I was trying to wait 'til every single last piece of final art was scanned and everything was finished up neatly and tidily, but 1.) the final art is thisclose to done and 2.) I can't wait any longer! For the last year, this has been my primary project behind-the-scenes, and it's finally time to reveal.

My next book, to be released in January 2012, is an illustrated novel chronicling the goings-ons at an imaginary orphanage...Oddfellow Bluebeard's orphanage, to be exact!

Oddfellow's Orphanage will be published by Random House Books for Young Readers, and is now available for pre-order!

Some of you might remember a series of imaginary portraits I did in 2009 involving orphans, a headmaster, a nurse, a cryptozoology professor, and a family of dancing bears (this postcard set is a reminder!)

With the portraits and their corresponding histories, I already had a cast of characters, and with some changes and additions, many adventures later, (with the help and support of my marvelous editor) I expanded the story of Oddfellow's into this series of tales.

Excerpted from the book description:

What do an onion-headed boy, a child-sized hedgehog, and a tattooed girl have in common? They are all orphans at Oddfellow's Orphanage! This unusual early chapter book began life as a series of full-color portraits with character descriptions. Author/illustrator Emily Martin has fleshed out the world of Oddfellow's with an episodic story that follows a new orphan, Delia, as she discovers the delights of her new home. From classes in Cryptozoology and Fairy Tale Studies to trips to the circus, from Annual Hair Cutting Day to a sea monster-sighting field trip, things at Oddfellows are anything but ordinary . . . except when it comes to friendships. And in that, Oddfellows is like any other school where children discover what they mean to each other while learning how big the world really is.

Making this book has been all fun and wonder, at every stage and every turn.

I hope reading the stories and poring over the artwork will just as happy an experience!

At the beginning of this Summer, on a certain day, in a certain bookstore, from a certain shelf, a small, grim-looking book leapt into my hands. And since I'm already in danger of getting too effusive and too maudlin about the ensuing word-page-girl-heart breakneck romance I fell into because of that grim little book, I'll leave it to this photo of the evidence on my nightstand to tell the tale.

Okay, I can't help it and I do have a little more to say.

I didn't know about Angela Carter until that incident with the small, grim book (which turned out to be her most famous collection of short stories, The Bloody Chamber.) Already very fond of the medium (because I am, perhaps, a flighty reader), just a glance at the table of contents revealed ten stories clearly alluding to French fairy tales.

My heart beat a little faster.

I found the bibliography of other work, to find novels with names like The Magic Toyshop and Nights at the Circus. Essays and story collections right up the alley that terminates in my front door. At this point, I'm clutching the small, grim book and looking wildly around the bookstore, feeling halfway radiantly happy to have something so stunningly Emily-ish fall right into my hands and also halfway furious and indignant at the world and circumstance and English school and everything else that had conspired to keep such a kindred spirit from me.

To make up for lost time, she's all I've read for months.

I think this would be a good time to mention that even though I am hopelessly in love with Angela Carter's ghost, this does not mean she is for everyone. Where there are wolves and maidens and circuses, there are also...shall we say...unwholesome things, unsavory things, running wild in her forests. These wild, even brutal things won't suit everyone's sensiblity (neither would the gothic, overwrought silliness that weaves in and out of her work.)

From what I gather, she is much more famous in her native England than in the U.S., which might explain why our paths didn't meet before. Even now, months later, I still feel that odd mix of gratitude to have finally found her and grumpy incredulousness that she evaded me all these years. Mostly, I feel grateful, because to find that a writer so taken with the lush, the fanciful, the bizarre, is also whipsmart, funny, and quite earthy is nothing short of amazing. She somehow walked with her head in strange, beautiful clouds, while keeping her feet firmly planted on the ground.

I'll take the beasts and wild things and wayward women and decadent prose and bind it all up in a crimson ribbon and thank my lucky stars that our paths met at last.

I love the company of wolves. Look out the window and you'll see them.

I feel a bit sheepish about how pokey things have been around here lately. A confluence of things are responsible: changing over computers, finishing my next book, and the Summertime. I think the Summertime might be mostly to blame.

One of my favorite things about this year's garden is the strawberry patch we planted in Spring. We have barely any food out there (it's a very impractical garden.) Just rosemary, because it's my favorite herb.

And also, peeking out from under the sweet white flowers...

Nestled next to the Irish moss...

Strawberries!

Perfectly tart, beautifully red and shiny, and cropping up for weeks.

They might be a bit shrimpy and considerably more lumpy than their grocery store counterparts, but they make up for it with their beautiful insides.

Scarcely a white heart in sight, these girls are crimson through and through.

It was the nicest feeling to be able to go outside, gather 5 or 6, and instantly increase the marvelousness of my vanilla yogurt by ten-fold.

Now they're on the wane, but I'm determined to have them again next year. And maybe twice as many plants.

There is a magical place in San Francisco stuffed with fully-operational automatons, games, and mechanical curiosities. I had heard tell of it from several pals, but I had never been. This last trip to the Bay, I finally got to go, and The Musee Mechanique was as wondrous as I had hoped it would be.

In the center of the arcade/museum is one of the most heart-achingly beautiful things I've ever seen with my own eyes - a miniature mechanical carnival, full of flickering golden lights, tiny people, worn striped awnings, games, rides, and teensy puffs of cotton candy.

For the price of a quarter or two, you can see it all come to life, though it's so detailed and intricate that it's difficult to race around and see the whole thing moving and lit up with one go-round.

I think the tiny band might've been my favorite part.

Or the mouse-sized sideshow.

Or the glow of the tiny red ticket booth next to the whirring merry go round.

Between the glare of the glass, and me being dumbstruck with love for the thing, it was difficult to snap photos. I snagged these few, and I hope they give you at least a little scrap of an idea of how neat the whole place is.

If you're planning a visit to the city by the Bay, the Musee is really a treasure! And if a magical, miniature carnival isn't enough to sell you on the idea, there are also some early 20th century "risque lady photos" viewable for a dime, so maybe that'll seal the deal.